Tag Archives: wind

May 1, 2019 · 7:29 am

Poetry Breakfast Publishes Ethel Mortenson Davis

Poetry Breakfast, an online journal of poetry, has an international audience.  One of the best poets in Great Britain, John Looker, told Ethel and I that he used to read it almost every day.  Poetry Breakfast’s Editor, Ann Kestner, took off some time in a sabbatical, but now she and the journal are back.  Ethel’s poem, “The Wind”, is up this morning, May 1.  The link to a wonderful everyday journal and Ethel’s poem is below:

Wind – A Poem by Ethel Mortenson Davis

A great idea is to subscribe to the Poetry Breakfast blog and then spend breakfast every once in awhile reading out loud the poem of the day with your coffee.

3 Comments

Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, poems, Poetry

Tagged as , , , , , , , ,

March 28, 2019 · 12:06 pm

Wind

by Ethel Mortenson Davis

wind

Wind

She is the freest
of all women,
the wind.

The sound she plays
through the pinion trees
is a loud, sweeping sound,
like a great, spiny broom
cleaning away from the earth
things unnecessary.

Invisible,
yet she stirs the winter skies
to bring deep canyon snows today ̶
and then tomorrow
life-giving thunderstorms.

She makes us ask,
what is necessary?
What do we need
on our temporary trek
across the earth? Our suitcase in hand?
What is it we really want?

Only life from the wind.

7 Comments

Filed under Art, Art by Ethel Mortenson Davis, Ethel Mortenson Davis, poems, Poetry

Tagged as , , , , , , , ,

July 11, 2016 · 6:40 am

Wind

a pastel by Ethel Mortenson Davis

wind

6 Comments

Filed under Art, Art by Ethel Mortenson Davis, Ethel Mortenson Davis

Tagged as , , , , , , ,

March 12, 2014 · 7:41 am

Flow of the Albino Does

a Spenserian sonnet by Thomas Davis

Albino does emerge from banks of snow
Into the moonlight of the winter night.
The sheen of silver from the ghostly glow
Of luminance stained from the full moon’s light
Spreads through the shadows where the snow’s soft white
Moves with the movement of the silent deer.

The maple trees begin to stir, a slight
Breath silent through a sky pristinely clear.
A huge tree cracks. A wave of startled fear
Jerks through the deer. A wind begins
To blow through barking trees, the atmosphere
Alive with movement as the moonlight spins
Light dancing through an empty field that flows
With running waves of ghostly silver does.

16 Comments

Filed under Poetry, Thomas Davis

Tagged as , , , , , , , ,

January 20, 2014 · 5:47 am

Kinship

by Ethel Mortenson Davis

I’ve come again
to watch your woods,
snow up to my thighs,
winds flying
across the tops of trees—
like when I was little.

On windy days
I would run
into the woods
and listen to the wind
roaring across the tops
of trees,

but stillness would
be beneath.

I think of trees
as family,
kin,
those that are
always there,
steel cores,
centurions
that guard us
from all the clamor
at the top,

the quiet and stillness
beneath,

close family.

6 Comments

Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, Poetry

Tagged as , , , , , , ,

February 22, 2013 · 6:25 am

Fields

William Bingen’s, our grandson’s, first poem

Going through fields
with soft soil beneath my feet
I stand with the wind
softly flowing through my hair.
I follow the straight path
made by the farmers plow.
It takes me to a hill
where I gaze off into the fields of wheat.
I hear the sound of silence,
the sound of nature.

14 Comments

Filed under Poetry

Tagged as , , , , , , , ,

August 2, 2012 · 6:46 am

Hiding Places

a love poem by Thomas Davis

I have hidden my face.
The green grass has grown wild about my house,
And the hiding places of the heart
Have multiplied and become numerous.

Spring croaks and thrashes at the wind.
The stars grow plump like yellow pears,
And the trees stand up, straight and proud,
From the soils of the earth.

I chant the words of love
And let my tongue grow dry with history.
I sing out the beauty of the sky
And tell the clouds to be silent
And to cease their rumbling.

Summer is the promise of the sun.
Conflict is the garment of drama.

O woman, you are the wind
And the sound of the wind.
O woman, you are the spirit of the stars.

I have hidden my face.
The green grass has grown wild about my house.
The hiding places of the heart
Have multiplied and become numerous.

O woman, on slippery ground
I will catch you and hold you in my arms.

7 Comments

Filed under Poetry, Thomas Davis

Tagged as , , , , , , , ,

July 20, 2012 · 6:30 am

Memory

by Ethel Mortenson Davis

A memory
of rain
in a night
when
the wind filled
and spread the sky

a
rain
upon us
and
through us,

on sounds
little known

as feet
of deer,

a rain
falling
between us,

upon
two voices
almost heard
above
the wind.

12 Comments

Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, Poetry

Tagged as , , , , , , , ,